Dear Spencer
by eclare1808
Summary: Dear Spencer, 14 years ago, you left home. You left Mom. You left the team. You left me . . . I think you should come back. Everything's breaking apart, and it's all your fault. You HAVE to come back. It's your responsibilty to, as a father and as a good friend . . . And we need you - I need you. Sincerely, Jake Jareau. Re-written. Rated T at the moment.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note - **

**Hi, guys. It's me again. I'm here to give my writing another chance. I'm starting off with ****_Dear Spencer_**** and, maybe, after that, I'll continue on with the rest of my deleted fics. **

**A lot of things have changed in this story, so I believe it's essential (for the past readers of the original, rough draft of _Dear Spencer_) to read the first few (altered) chaps. all over again. This is still a WIP, but, I promise, it's worth the read (well, I hope it is) since I've focused more on the CM cast than the OCs. Having said that, this fic. will not only contain letters, but also 'regular' chaps. with either first or second person narration. **

**To the past readers of this fic., thank you for giving this story another chance. Thank you to the first-timers for checking it out. Your awaited feedback will be replied to via author's note in the following chap. Updates are once every week. Please excuse any mistakes. And I hope you all enjoy.**

**Warning: Mentions of past drug abuse.**

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Entry#1: Story About Me

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_An old letter - hidden safely in a place the past is also buried:_

Dear Jennifer,

I have to go. I have to go away for a while. I have to fix something that's been bothering me, both physically and emotionally. I can't tell you every last detail on it, there's no time, but do know that Tobias didn't beat me. It was his father and Raphael who did. Tobias only helped me feel better. Too much help, though. Because, after what he did – _gave_ me, I can't stop yearning for more . . .

The sinful desire makes me distant from you and the team. It makes me irritated, angry, and act like a jerk. I – I can't control it, JJ. Every time I see those crime-scene photos of the girls . . . I have the urge to – I'm sorry, I just – I can't go on. I'm afraid I no longer have use for you, JJ. I'm in pieces, and it pains me even more to see you this way; hurt that you have no clue as to what's going on with me. Now you do. And I hope you understand why I'm leaving, why I'm saying goodbye.

Don't worry, I'll come back. When I do, I hope you have forgiven me. And, maybe, we'll start anew. In the meantime, you should know that I loved you for loving me for who I am. Without you, I wouldn't have had a greater reason to live. So, thank you, JJ. Thank you.

Sincerely,  
Spencer Reid.

P.S. Tell my mother I love her, too. Tell her it was an honor being her son.

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_An entry from the journal of a certain young boy:_

September 10, 2020 [Thursday]

Dear Spencer,

Hi, I'm Jake Jareau, a son of your really close friend, Jennifer Jareau. You're probably wondering why I'm writing to you. The only answer I can provide you with is I'd really like it if you got to know me better. I am your only son, after all. Well, maybe. You might have a son, or daughter, of your own with another woman by now . . .

I'm not against it or anything. I don't mind having a half-sibling; I have one of my own already. His name is Henry LaMontagne. He's the son of William LaMontagne Jr., a cop/detective Mom married when I was seven . . . seven years after you left . . .

I guess this is where I start 'telling' you about the early years of my life. Please don't feel bad. I know it's not your fault why you left. Mom had told me about your dilaudid addiction, two months ago, and I had understood it, in technical terms. I'm afraid I can't _emotionally_ understand the situation you were in thirteen years ago . . .

So, here it is.

Seven years before Mom wed Will, I was born in St. Luke's Hospital at exactly 19:02, standard military time, on October 14, 2006. Seven months before that, when Mom was two months pregnant, you left your home for something Mom and the team hadn't understood until a close friend, named Jason Gideon, confessed to your drug problem.

They understood why you had to leave, (it was the best for your well-being), and the letter you left on the kitchen table in Mom's old apartment, where you were staying at the time, made it easier to understand, because it was clear. What they – us all – didn't and still don't understand is why you never came back . . . _That's_ the mystery . . .

Mom was heartbroken, of course, because she had to raise a baby by herself. She was hopeful, however, that you would come back in time to see her give birth to me, your son, or in time to see me grow up to be a wonderful boy . . .

You might be confused as to what I'm saying, shocked, or even dubious about this sudden revelation, but it's true. I am your son. Mom was pregnant when you left. You can even look at the picture I have attached to this letter. It's of me; a curly (shoulder-length) blonde haired, big brown-eyed, button-sized nose, skinny, thirteen year old boy. You can tell I'm your son by how identical we look. The hair color and height are pretty much the only differences we have . . .

It's a lot to take in, I understand. But I guess this letter, and the following ones after this, will help you keep up with my life, and the life of each member of the team, especially Mom – Oh, yes! Mom. Back to her story.

With the help of the team, Mom went through the pregnancy with ease. She had a couple of panic/anxiety attacks here and there, but it couldn't have been better . . .

By the time I was a few months old, Mom sort of gave up waiting for you, to focus on me for a while. She wanted me to have a great childhood, she wanted me to grow up like you; smart, sweet, kind, caring . . . Funny thing is, I grew up to be _exactly_ like you. Not just the physical aspects, but the inner ones too.

I have a photographic memory, minus the ability to read fast, so I'm still in high school. I started last week on Wednesday, September 2nd, and easily adjusted to the academics. The area I still need to get used to in is socializing. And 'being part of a clique.'

Matter of fact, I do have one, and it's made up of me, my friend since Kindergarten, Steven Moore, and my friend since second grade, Sarah Mae. They're, what the kids these days still call it, my 'posse'.

You should also know I tend to get side-tracked a lot. That's why I still haven't finished talking about Mom . . .

Mom met Will when I was three years old, during a case. Mom had needed money for my supplies and had gone back to work, much to her refusal (separation anxiety). Luckily, a person she trusted very much, her younger brother, Uncle Matthew, or Matt, offered to take care of me while Mom was in another state . . .

After Will and Mom's first meet in New Orleans, they kept in touch via phone. It wasn't until I was five did Will come and live with us. By the time I was seven, they finally got married and had Henry three years after.

I was very accepting of Will. I trusted him with Mom . . . and he's one heck of a joker. Because of him, I grew up with the notion that I had a father. Well, someone who acted like one. I knew from the start he wasn't my real father (I was an intelligent and observant toddler), and had no problem knowing that you, my real father, left without knowing I was yours, or even existed.

It's okay, though. Like I said, it wasn't your fault. You just left at the wrong time.

I'd like to write to you more, but I have a track try-out tomorrow after school. Will made me try out for future college application/scholarship use. It's the only sport I seem to be good at, so I hope I'm good enough to make the team.

I'll write to you next time and let you know how it goes.

Sincerely,  
Jake Jareau.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note - **

**Here's the second update. But before you go and read it, here are my replies to your wonderful feedback:**

xs18** - Jake is interested in track - it's basically running. Thank you for the review!**

Challenge King** - Thank you for making **_**Dear Spencer**_** your favorite.**

loveyouforeverr** - Thank you for following me and the story.**

Sophia0665 and giderasia1** - Thank you two for following!**

Guest** - I hope so, too. (lol) Thank you for reviewing. **

**Thank you guys for reading the first chap. This next chap. is for the six of you – and everyone else!**

**P.S. J****ust a minor error in the first chap., which I won't bother to deal with to change – 'try-out' is suppose to be 'tryouts'.**

**Oh, and I guess updates are every Monday night. So, see you then! **

**Enjoy.**

**Warning: SPOILERS for various episodes of CM**

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Entry#2: People I Know

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September 12, 2020 [Saturday]

Dear Spencer,

I have a feeling I made the team. Mr. Max, the track coach, said to me after tryouts that I had set a new school record, which is unbelievable because all the other students who tried out looked more experience than me. They were good, too. And I actually made friends with some, mostly the Freshmen like me.

After, I took the bus to Will's work where the fellow cops like him were honoring the victims of the Twin Towers on 9/11, the tragic event in modern US history that occurred 19 years ago in New York – as well as the other states targeted by terrorists on that day – with a cup of freshly brewed coffee and some good homemade donuts. Henry was there too, back from pre-school and an afternoon with Uncle Matt. Mom was working a case.

I spent the rest of the afternoon completing my homework in the Chief's room. When I was done, I looked around it. Then I walked around the small glassed compartment and read the articles on the wall about the different cases the department had solved. Right next to them were framed pictures of former and present officers, just like Will.

When I was done doing that, I sat back down on the chair parallel to the Chief's 'throne'. The Chief had asked me to sit on it, since it's more comfy, but I declined, feeling embarrassed that a kid like me would sit in a big chair like that. He normally didn't let anyone sit there – he's a grumpy, strict man – but his face would always light up from the sight of me and/or Henry, and he would let Henry and I basically do anything (safe).

The rest of Will's co-workers like seeing us, too. They like the company of kids, and because of us, they're boss doesn't yell at them – for the time being. They know I'm not Will's biological son, and they know about you and Mom. And the 'story of me'. They know because you met some of them during a case here, near home. They remember you, clearly, and when they saw me, the possible fact that Will is my father was officially discarded.

They don't treat me special, though, which I thank for, except for the new cops who wonder out loud why I don't have Will's or Mom's looks whatsoever, but Henry does. (They eventually find out from the cops who like to gossip.) . . .

When I was sitting on the chair, idly looking around again while I tried to ignore the Chief's smile (directed at me) as he talked to Will outside the door, who was also smiling and glancing back and forth to me and the Chief, I caught a glimpse of a woman's framed photo standing on the second top shelf of the Chief's glassed cabinet. There was a flag next to her photo. The set up reminded me of Aunt Emily.

Emily Prentiss – you remember her, right? Mom said she was the 'newbie' when you and the team met her. She also mentioned you weren't in good terms with her after the Tobias case – don't worry, Aunt Emily forgives you. Well, she didn't _verbally_ say she forgives you, but I have a strong feeling she does; she understands people well. She understood me when I momentarily felt jealous of how the team treated Henry when he was born. She assured me that, though it seems like Mom and Will were more focused on Henry at the time, I was still on their minds, on top of everything else . . .

Aunt Emily is my most trusted aunt. I can talk to her about anything, and the advice she gives is stupendous. They always seem to work. Too bad she moved back to Europe when I was six, to work a desk job beside her mom. She left the Bureau a few weeks after the bomb incident at the Columbia Federal Bank. The unsubs had bombed the building and attached another bomb to Will in hopes of having the train station explode, too. Aunt Emily was involved in both attempts and decided this was enough for her; a quieter, safer job was needed, especially after her 'death' . . .

Long story short, she needed to pretend she was dead when an old nemesis from Interpol, where she had worked at before she joined the Bureau, came after her. Mom and Uncle Aaron were the only ones who knew the truth . . . I guess it was good Mom knew . . . She couldn't have had handled another loss in the family . . .

We still keep in touch with Aunt Emily via online video messaging, and it looks like she's doing great in Europe . . .

This is suppose to be a secret, but I believe Aunt Emily and Uncle Derek are in a relationship. I saw Uncle Derek blow a kiss to Aunt Emily through the phone before when they thought no one was looking . . . Uncle Derek's a flirt, I know, but the look in his eyes and Aunt Emily's, after they blew kisses to each other, said it was more than just fooling around; they miss each other, dearly . . .

Aunt Penelope's doing well. She's awesome, like she has always been. She buys me and Henry a lot of things. Mom thinks she's spoiling us. All I ask from her is books, though, and she happily buys me them, especially ones you like, such as books by Chaucer. She said Grandma used to read them to you when you were a kid . . . Speaking of Grandma, she's still alive and healthy, living in the Sanitarium you sent her to . . . You should probably know that she doesn't actually know you're gone . . . Mom writes letters to her with your name on them. Mom feels bad lying to her, but it's for her own good, for her health . . .

Many things happened to Aunt Penelope while you were gone. She was shot by a unsub in front of her home. She thought she wasn't capable of living with the constant fear that the unsub, who had first escaped, will come back for her. Mom, though, believe it or not, killed the unsub. He had snuck into the Bureau, and Mom had snuck behind him in return and shot him through the glass door, right in the forehead.

Mom was shaky afterwards, because she never killed anyone in her life, but she claimed it was worth it . . . It saved her another loss . . .

Because of that event, Aunt Penelope met Uncle Kevin, a guy as quirky as her, and they went out for a year or so. They went through a rough patch, but eventually made up and wed. They're expecting to adopt a child in Africa soon when Uncle Kevin quits his job at the Bureau and gets one that's not as time-consuming.

Uncle Aaron is still the, as Aunt Penelope likes to put it, 'boss man'. Unfortunately, his wife – ex-wife – Haley Brooks, was murdered by a unsub who had turned his advances towards Uncle Aaron's family. Thankfully, Jack, his only son, survived. He's 17 now, and is my best friend. However, we don't hang out as much anymore since he volunteers a lot in orphanages, adoption centers – basically anywhere involving kids – for, I guess, volunteer credits, for college . . . But I think he does it mostly because he wants to. He's a smart boy, like his father. And he loves to read.

Uncle Aaron wed his girlfriend, Aunt Beth, a few years after they started dating, back when I was six years old. She's a great woman, too; a great mother to Jack, like Will a great father to me.

There are other people you haven't met, like a man named David Rossi. He's a famous writer. He replaced that man, your old friend, Jason Gideon, when he left the Bureau for personal reasons (his girlfriend was murdered, and he felt responsible for his actions following it). Uncle David, because he's a rich man, provided Mom of all the things she needed when I was a baby. Other people who had also helped were the replacements the Bureau made, for you. There were a lot, and many were accepted by the team, but one only stayed, and that's Alex Blake. She was a close friend of Erin Strauss, your _former_ chief. She died because . . . of a unsub . . .

And . . . I guess that's it. That's everyone you should know about – oh, wait. You should know a little about my friends, Steven and Sarah. Steven's a little like a rebel, the typical, dark-haired, skater boy, and my bus buddy to and fro school. He's pretty popular in the neighborhood, but he prefers to hang out with me and Sarah.

Sarah's like the younger version of Aunt Emily. She's mature for her age and loves to listen to people. She offers good advice and seldom talks about herself; she likes to keep her life 'under the sheets' because it's not necessary for others to know. She's a goth, and loves heavy metal. Under all that dark make-up and fake piercings, though, is a very pretty girl . . .

I guess I can write about another person I like . . . Her name is Lucy. Lucy Ericsson. She's not really a close friend – I just began talking to her on the second day of school when I was partnered to be her English partner. She's . . . a pretty girl, too. A dirty blonde haired, blue-eyed, and humble girl. She's the school's top sweetheart, even though school just started. I've had a crush on her since seventh grade. I never had the guts to talk to her until this year, thanks to Mom and Will's gradual persuasion. She was absent a lot too, so I didn't really have a chance to talk to her . . . I heard from the adults at school that she was diagnosed with Leukemia and had to miss school for therapy. The cancer eventually subsided and brought her back on her feet, healthier than before . . .

Wow, this letter is long. I apologize. I just want you to read about all these great people I know and have made an impact on my life, and yours, before you left.

They miss you, they really do, and you're welcome to come back, anytime. They're arms are wide open, like mine are, though I never met you. But you're my father, and a son would love to know more about his dad, in person, and not just from great stories told.

Sincerely,  
Jake Jareau.


End file.
